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It hurts to say this but India is regressing. We need to accept that fact.

Many were so outraged when the details of the New Delhi gang-rape case first came to light that they did something not even the most wizened politicians could anticipate - they came out onto the streets in overwhelming numbers, demanding measures be taken to keep them safe. They were given assurances and promises and finally pacified after a tense week of tears and water cannons.

Sadly, we are still failing you. In the months since that watershed moment, rather than deter the more disgusting elements of our society, the incident of New Delhi seemed to teach them a new trick to try - "gang-rape." Suddenly, every day - every cursed day - the news channels or online media had another story of a gang-rape occurring with no conclusion to the story; no quick action of the police, no speedy trials, no worthy justice for the victim. Instead of showing we could protect you, we gave these guys a new method to violate you.

While discussing this with fellow doctors, I was presented with an alternative view by a colleague which was interesting and quite popular too - what if gang-rapes were always common and it is now just a case of the media finally showcasing it after the Delhi incident? I cannot disagree with that view either. But the sad part is that it is true - there are so many buried cases of molestations and rapes prior to this, are there not?

It has been a few summers since that day. As was common with most medical colleges in the city, foreign students regularly visited our Indian hospitals and usually did a 1-2 month internship before returning back . From what I recall, she was a German student in her early twenties who was enamoured by the prospect of getting to see so many diseases here that they had only read about in textbooks abroad. And the doctors here were more than willing to assist - answering all her questions diligently, showcasing the diseases present and variations in management and allowing her to assist in operative procedures. They took a lot of pains to make her feel at ease, answering every question from the science behind malaria management to the makings of a samosa. They arranged for cars to drive her around and see the nearby tourism spots including temples and beaches, eateries and handicraft shops. They were the wonderful hosts that India usually is to awe-struck foreigners.

Over the years, my definition and method of praying has changed quite a lot.

As a child, morning and evening prayers were a quintessential part of my life. After returning from school in the evening in Dubai, we would bath, pray for half an hour and only then sit down for dinner. That formula stayed put throughout most of my high school years in India as well.

Kudroli temple, Mangalore

Perhaps the first modification occurred when I joined the medical profession as a MBBS student. Now, between waking up and rushing for the morning class and the exhausted trudge back to the hostel, the pattern changed.

Now, the visits to God's abode in a town 14 kms away from the medical college were restricted to once a week with the old roommates. Every Sunday, we would catch the morning bus to town, go and visit two of Mangalore's most popular temples, the gorgeously pristine Kudroli temple and the famous Kadri temple. This was of course followed by a trip to another popular haunt, the restaurant Janata Deluxe where we would feast like kings on dosas, puris and yes, even ice creams at 9am in the morning as we leisurely read the paper there! Believe it or not, we did this ritual for over four years and even undertook this 30km journey on the precious Sunday in between two university theory exams. More often than not, he was by my side in those studying days.

Vikram Das and Jinny Thomas are two worlds apart. They have never met each other. And yet they are connected to each other.

This was first published in Tamarind Rice'sSeptember issue in my column "An AppletiniA Day..." Click the picture to read the entire magazine online for free.

Jinny Thomas is seven years old. She lives in an quaint little village within God's own country. She is the last to wake up in her house and goes to school reluctantly, tagging along with her elder sister. The kaccha roads that lead up to her school are forever muddy, worse now with the advent of the recent monsoons. She hates what they do to her shoes but her family is grateful because the rains nourish their crops. The best part of school undoubtedly is the return home where her pet dog Tommy waits at the doorstep, rushing to greet her when she arrives. Though she does not understand the language, she enjoys the cartoons on television. She is seven years old and has her whole life ahead of her.

Vikram Das is sixty six years old. Hailing from the Pink city, he is the fourth generation of his family to deal with the trade of cloth and cloth material. He is a widower, having lost his beloved fifteen years ago in a road traffic accident. He lives alone at the old ancestral house, aided by a servant who comes by every morning and does the cleaning. His daughter is studying in the national capital and he worries for her everyday till he receives her call. His elder son has taken over the family business and helps him now at the store. He indulges in an occasional meetha paan after lunch and dinner. He is turning blind and the doctors tell him that they cannot do much for him. He worries about his fate but does not confide in his daughter because he knows how much she cares for him. He is sixty six years old and life is coming to an end for him.